


How Fitting

by Scripturience



Series: Weddingstuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dress!Kri, M/M, dress!Kankri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scripturience/pseuds/Scripturience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a 'bride,' you've learned, is all about suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Fitting

**Author's Note:**

> [The dress in question](http://sweet-rabbit.tumblr.com/post/91572828798/so-a-while-back-i-prompted-frostingflakes-to-write) drawn by the lovely [sweet-rabbit](http://sweet-rabbit.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> I said I was going to do more stuff for this. And look, it only took me an entire year.

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and your feet are _killing_ you. Though it’s nothing new, since it feels like just about everyone involved in your personal life is trying to, at this rate.

First, your newly proclaimed fiancé with his proposal, then his family by sweeping you up into the contrived and convoluted mess they’re calling “wedding planning.” Today, the perpetrator is none other than your best friend of countless years, Porrim Maryam.

“Will you _hold still?_ ” She chastises you for what feels like the thousandth time this afternoon. She only rolls her eyes when you reply with an aggravated grumble. “Just relax, we’re almost finished, I promise.”

You bite your tongue, deciding not make a scathing retort about her telling you that essentially every 10 minutes for the past several hours. Instead, you obey her orders and attempt to still your aching, fidgeting legs.

Really though, how does she expect you to keep still? After she’s forced you to stand up on this podium _again_ , this time in heels (you protested, of course. They can’t even be seen under the tulle, but Porrim insisted it was necessary), while she measures and prods at you with scissors and pins and all manner of instruments you don’t even recognize.

“So,” she addresses you again, looking down at her clipboard (with who knows what written on it) “Are you excited?”

You think your expression might have shifted into an unamused look, had your face not been set that essentially since she forced you up onto the platform.

“Yes, Porrim,” you answer her, voice dripping with sarcastic venom, “I am positively _ecstatic._ ”

She scoffs at you (of course she does), looking up from her papers as she continues speaking. “Oh come on now,” her voice is patronizing with her words, and if you weren’t already so drained it would honestly make you want to break something “this is your _wedding,_ Kanny. Your big day!”

“It’s not for another 6 months, Porrim,” you remind her, tone unchanged.

“That’s not the point,” she goes on, bending over to grab more of her tools, “you’re looking at this with the wrong attitude.”

“Oh please, tell me what kind of- ah!” You grunt, the wind being knocked out of you as she wraps her measuring tape tightly around your waist, “ _do tell me how I should be feeling.”_ You practically seethe at her despite the sudden lack of air.

“I’m just saying,” she looks away from you again, lowering her head to write down her painstaking (for you) measurements, “I think you could stand to be a bit more positive about it.”

“Not all of us were given the joys of an unlimited couture budget, Porrim,” you have to resist the urge to snap at her, your words only subtly vehement.

“Kankri!” She all but snaps back at you, more than a little obviously defensive “That isn’t what this is about and you know it.”

You hold back that ‘I’m so sure,’ lingering on the tip of your tongue, and instead opt to roll your eyes at her.

“My best friend is getting _married_. And if you ask me, I shouldn’t be the only excited one here.”

Easy for her to say, you think bitterly. Truthfully, you’re angry with her, if you’re going to be honest with yourself. You’re angry with a lot of people right now.

Nothing thus far in relation to what is supposed to be _your_ wedding, has gone how you wanted it to go. Up to this point, and after it too, most likely, this whole affair has been nothing but other people making decisions for you. The only thing you really had a say in, was saying yes to Cronus in the first place. And you don’t want to think that you regret the decision, but…

You aren’t even really sure how you would have wanted things to go, really. Barely even years ago, the idea of a wedding was nothing but appalling to you. In a way, it still is, and the way yours is shaping up isn’t helping your prejudice.

For you, the reason you even said yes in the first place, was the idea of the commitment. You aren’t in this for the glamorous, showy stage production that it’s become. You agreed to this because, well… the idea of _being married_ , that doesn’t seem so bad to you anymore. You’ve gotten older, and while you’re still probably much more high-strung than your average human being, you’ve had time to mellow out your world views. If only slightly.

But after you were engaged, gears were set in motion that you only wish you could have foreseen. Almost immediately, it was like all of your agency simply vanished into thin air. Everyone started speaking for you, making plans in your name and decisions on your behalf, all so quickly you couldn’t even process what was going on, let alone object.

Where you felt a small sting of betrayal, was when your own loved ones hopped on the bandwagon. Cronus was more like a silent bystander the entire time, just allowing it all to happen. You doubt he understands any of this better than you do, but it feels like you’re being expected to just sit back and be complacent with everything. It feels like _everyone_ is all but demanding that of you, and really, with all the money and affluence flying around from his family, it’s not like you have much of a choice.

Things have been tense between the two of you, no doubt. You’ve been trying to just go about your daily lives, but he knows you're upset and stressed and frankly just _miserable_ with how things are going.

Porrim, on the other hand, has taken on a more active role. Really, you aren’t surprised by this by any means. She was put in charge of the wedding attire, with an emphasis on yours in particular. With her experience as a seamstress, she was the natural choice. What you were dreading, however, was her natural talent for rendering you powerless to go against her wishes.

Frankly, when you told her you didn’t like any of the tuxes she picked out for you, the last thing you wanted was to be put in a _dress._ Then again, it feels like it’s been ages since anyone has actually respected what you have to say.

“Well, Porrim,” you glare down at her, despite her lack of eye contact, “perhaps we could trade places, and you could stand up here while I pace around and prod at you with pins.”

Of course she merely scoffs again, setting down her clip board and moving over to a closet at the other end of the room, “Just calm down, Kanny. We’re pretty much finished for today.”

You grind your teeth at the ‘today,’ but say nothing.

“All I have left is to fit the veil. We’re almost completely done after that!” She turns around, holding up the article in question with an excited smile on her face.

Your eyes widen slightly when you catch sight of what she’s holding. Along with the thin and delicate looking fabric, Porrim is cradling what appears to be several strands of pearls, all of varying lengths. She really knew how to take advantage of her funding.

“Alright,” she says as she walks up to you, “now hold still. We need to be careful with these.”

You want to scoff at her, but then again, in the back of your mind you can’t even imagine the consequences if you somehow managed to break even one of them. Considering your background (and gender identify if you’re going to be perfectly honest) you never even thought of the possibility of wearing pearls before. You can’t even fathom their worth.

You remain deathly still when she climbs up onto her step ladder, briefly closing your eyes when Porrim gently sets the fabric over your hair. For the actual ceremony, it would be specially styled and outfitted with a piece to hold the veil in place. For this fitting, she simply pins the fabric into your hair.

Next, she sets to work on the pearls. You feel a shiver run down your spine, as she moves the first and longest strand into place, the cold gems rolling against the exposed skin of your shoulder, moving only slightly as she clasps them into the dress. You swallow thickly, trying to keep yourself stationary as she continues decorating you with the expensive stones.

“There,” she breathes, stepping back from you to admire her work. It’s then, that it dawns on you: this is the closest to being finished the dress has been yet. Technically, nearly every piece of the elaborate ensemble is in place. “We’re all done.”

She moves around to the front of the podium, reaching over to grab your hand in hers. “What are you doing?” You snap a bit defensively, having expected her to begin the equally painful process of getting you the hell out of this thing.

“Taking you to a mirror,” she answers simply, as she starts to drag you off the stand. “Don’t you want to see?”

“Not particularly, no!” You all but sputter, as you stumble off of the raised surface, struggling to walk in the heels.

“Too bad,” she waves you off, pulling you by your arm across the room, all the while ignoring your grumbling and the hole you’re trying to glare into the back of her neck.

“There,” she steps behind you, setting her hands on your shoulders and depositing you in front of the mirror. “What a beautiful bride we have here!”

You glare up at her, but say nothing. Instead, you turn your head towards the mirror, preparing to take a cursory glance at yourself just for the sake of placating Porrim.

Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes widening and your jaw nearly hitting the floor when you take in the image of yourself in what is probably the most extravagant thing you have literally ever seen. You have to blink several times at first, because you’re not even sure if you’re really looking at yourself in the mirror. You can almost see the shimmering of the pearls and the sparkling fabric of the gown reflected in your irises, wide with awe.

“I…” You try to speak, to say _something,_ but any words you might have been trying to form die in your throat. You had yet to see yourself in any version of the dress Porrim has been making before this point. Really, with how many times you had been forced to stand still while she pinned fabric to you, you were sure you were going to hate this thing, but now….

“You look amazing, Kankri,” Porrim leans down next to you in the mirror, a warm smile on her face reflected next to yours. “Just imagine when Cronus sees you.”

You swallow thickly, the thought causing butterflies to float up in your stomach. You were dreading having to put on this show for everyone from day one, the idea of ‘walking down the aisle,’ still striking terror into your heart. It still does. But what Porrim just said to you has your heart doing backflips in your chest.

You think maybe, for just a second, you might be able to understand it. The reason that people do things like this, that they get married. Beneath all of the superficiality and the stress something has been stirred up in you that you can’t quite pin down.

You almost feel yourself trembling when you look in the mirror, as if the image you’re looking at is still unreal to you.

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and maybe just a little bit, you actually feel beautiful right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, it's still surreal to me that it's been so long. It feels like yesterday since I wrote that story.


End file.
